


Love is Bitter; Pain is Calling

by teejplease



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teejplease/pseuds/teejplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is always searching, but he never sees.</p><p>Brock Rumlow is always waiting, but he is never himself.</p><p>The question is: who is the one taking advantage in a situation like this?</p><p>(The answer was and always will be, "Hail Hydra.")</p><p>-</p><p>Or, the one where Brock Rumlow becomes Steve Rogers whenever Bucky escapes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is Bitter; Pain is Calling

The first time was an accident (or what they let Brock believe was an accident. There are no accidents in Hydra’s clutches. There is only the wait before the drag of a long-forgotten net from the bottom of a deep, dark sea). Brock had just come from his SHIELD debrief before meeting up with Sitwell, blood still streaked across his frame, eye swollen from someone getting a ‘lucky’ shot before leaving with the information SHIELD had been pursuing (again, there is only the net. The documents Brock had stolen are folded and pressed into his body armor – to be given to Sitwell in just a few moments. His assailant was in another room in the building they were in now, likely unwinding after what Brock and she had viewed as an extreme sparring session). 

Brock was a younger thing then – mid-twenties and (just as) cocky. His body had some ranginess to it and was a rising star in SHIELD, willing to do anything to get the job done, but with a need to be further trained up (or at least that’s what SHIELD thought. Nowadays, Brock knows that he was lucky that the Widow was not yet a part of the international organization – she would have taken him apart then). He had a brutality edging his movements that a younger SHIELD had excused to his messy upbringing, an eagerness to please that they accepted as their due when taking an orphan under their wing (SHIELD had always been a little romantic). 

This mission had been a risky one and Brock had messily bleached his own hair in a Laundromat one night to see if he could shake his tails. His handler had applauded his ingenuity before suggesting another hair color (maybe a dark red?) for his next mission. Sitwell’s eyes had lingered on the blonde mess before moving onto the subject at hand.

One of many of Hydra’s bases was in a suburb outside of Los Angeles – a sprawling mansion in one of the many rich and famous neighborhoods, near enough to Brock’s current apartment to not look suspicious. Brock had only ever been to one of the many sitting rooms, seated across Jasper as he was now.

Jasper (back then, Brock and he had been close enough to refer to each other by first name. Present time saw them as strangers, people who viewed one another as tools to be picked up and tossed away as needed. Hydra did that to friends) was leaning over Brock’s abdomen as the other stood still, a scalpel and tweezers in hand as Jasper attempted to remove the desired documents. Brock’s left arm was stretched up and held still so that the other could access the hidden goods. 

They both turned at the abrupt sound of gunfire and yelling coming from down the hall. The noise and destruction seemed to be coming their way before suddenly stopping. 

Sitwell dropped the implements in hand and reached to take one of the many guns on Brock’s person. 

“Just like old times, eh, Jas’?” Brock smirked, cocking his own weapon. 

Jasper crouched behind the table they carefully overturned (silent despite the solid oak), not even deigning to look at his friend. 

“Paper pushing is the way of the future,” Sitwell shot back. 

Brock chuckled, ready next to his companion.

The current blond had expected a brutal show of skill and deadliness but was surprised by the panicked individual that opened the door suddenly before diving behind a couch. 

“Shit, where the hell -,” Jasper and Brock exchanged looks at the frantic murmuring they heard. Signaling to one another, Brock nodded before approaching the unknown person. 

The man that Brock had his gun aimed at was dirty, covered in grime and shaking. He had limp, medium brown hair hanging over a relatively attractive face that Brock usually would have paid more attention to.

Unfortunately, the metal arm took Brock’s full consideration.

This was a man that no one was supposed to know about – one that had never been seen. From what the two could see of his jittery motions, the Asset was not in the right mindset.

“Freeze,” Brock commanded, drawing on the cool arrogance that was fast becoming his trademark. 

The other man snarled, turning towards Brock. Brock took care to aim for the Asset’s flesh shoulder, knowing that this man was seen as a priceless weapon but unwilling to give up his own life just in case. He knew he’d have to be fast to drop such a skilled individual.

The other man was faster. He pinned Brock down in a flurry of movements (later, Jasper would poke fun at how easy it had seemed for the crazed individual but that was _later_ ) metal arm locking Brock into place against the wall.

But then he faltered. “Wait, what?” he gasped in an accent pure Brooklyn, eyes blinking furiously, focusing on Brock’s features. 

Jasper emptied his clip into the Asset’s back. 

Snarling once more, the Asset turned, his metal arm brought up to deflect the remaining bullets. He ripped a lamp from its resting place and threw it with amazing accuracy to knock Jasper out (this is what Brock would laugh about in turn when Jasper and he were crowded around his small coffee table at home, a beer in each of their hands) before turning back to Brock, falling to his knees and pressing himself against the other’s abdomen like a frightened child. 

“Where the hell are we now, you punk?” he grunted to Brock, his hands clutching at the other’s clothing.

Brock didn’t have time to answer. Another agent had crept in slowly and shot the Asset with a few hundred bolts of electricity. Brock and the Asset both collapsed, their bodies seizing. 

This was the first time Brock Rumlow tamed the Winter Soldier.


End file.
